I look at my tired eyes and pale face. I pull the skin down under my eyes to examine the red blood vessels that seem to have taken over. I think I used to be pretty, at some point…but that seems so long ago. Lately, I’m the frumpy mom that I always told myself I’d never become. I mean sure, I dress decently enough for work. But I just look (and feel) so tired. Run down.

I don’t generally wear a lot of make-up, so the fact that I have long dark eyelashes helps. But my big brown eyes that used to look so alive with excitement and joy have been replaced with sad, tired, mournful eyes. And my hair? Let’s just say I support the ponytail look wholeheartedly.

I turn my attention back to my hair. Seriously, what am I supposed to do with this mess in five minutes? Hmm…ponytail it is. I sigh to myself as I think about how lovely it would be to actually have time to do my hair in the morning, to style it with something other than a hair band. I mean, having an actual style would be nice. But, to be able to take the time to style it, well, that would be beyond comprehension..

I would be unrecognizable at work. I would walk in to the office and it would be like one of those hair commercials; wind in my hair, hot guy gazing at me adoringly because I have beautiful styled hair. I would flip my hair in slow motion…

“Mama! Rylie’s picking her nose again!” I hear loud shrieks as the girls start running around the living room. “Eww! Mom! She keeps acting like she’s gonna wipe it on us! Help!”

Snapping out of my reverie, I quickly throw my thick brown hair back into its usual lame ass pony tail, trying to not think about the section of my hair that’s starting to bubble up. The same section of hair that is slowly forming a crusty top layer as the toothpaste begins to dry.

Oh well, I think to myself, turning on the sink and throwing some water on it to make myself feel better. Who knows, maybe I’ll get lucky. Maybe the water has some magical mysterious element to dissolve the toothpaste. Giving myself one last look of disapproval, I dart quickly from the bathroom. I round the corner and enter the living room, finding all three of my beauties sitting quietly on the couch.

I guess the nose picking fiasco has ceased.

Nycole, my oldest, appears to be frozen in time; her spoon has only made it halfway to her mouth and seems to be stuck there. Brown curly hair perfectly braided, headband in and big brown eyes glued on the TV.

“Nyc.” Nothing.

“Nyc.” I clap my hands. Still nothing. Oh my God. She’s in the TV.

“Nyc!” I shout, giving it one last try. She jumps in response, milk and cereal immediately spilling onto her neatly pressed plaid skirt. She shoots me a glare. I shoot her one back because honestly, that’s just uncalled for. I walk over and turn off the TV.

“I’m pretty sure I told you guys no TV. None of you have even remotely touched your breakfast, and now we have to go.” They all look down at their full cereal bowls with huge, longing eyes.

“Sorry,” I say, shaking my head in disbelief. “In the sink girls, come on…we’ve got to get going. We’re already running late.” I watch as they slowly get up from the couch and make their way to the kitchen.

“I told you not to turn it on, Kyndall. Now I don’t get my breakfast. Way to go.”

“Yeah, Kyndall. Nycole told you.”

I stand there, arms crossed over my chest, waiting for them to make their way back to the living room. My eyes land on Nycole as soon as she enters.

“If you knew it wasn’t supposed to be on, then why didn’t you turn it off, Nycole? Lead by example. Don’t just place blame. You’re nine years old and fully capable of operating the TV – I know you can because I’ve seen you do it. You know better.” I end my statement with a raise of my eyebrows.

“Yeah, but–”

“Nope. No excuses.”

“But–”

“Nyc .” I’m fully anticipating another rebuttal, but evidently she gets the point and stomps off. I guess she wants to make her point too. Noted.

I turn my eyes to Kyndall. “Kyndall. You know better too, don’t you?”

I watch as her eyes swell with tears. “Yes, but, I just wanted Rylie to be quiet. She kept copying everything I was saying. Everything Mama. She wouldn’t stop. It was the only thing I could do to get her to be quiet. I’m sorry.” She looks down at the floor. I walk over and raise her chin so she looks at me. “I know it’s hard, but next time, just come get me. I can take care of her, that’s my job. You just come to me when she keeps doing stuff like that.”

I wipe a tear from her cheek with my thumb. “I’m not mad sweetheart, okay? Just go wait by the door. I’ll be there in a second.” I give her shoulder a quick squeeze. She offers me a slight smile in return and makes her way to the front door.

I turn my attention to the hellion of the group. I watch her while she attempts to do the robot. She flashes me her trademark dimples, no doubt trying to diffuse the situation. Her long spiral curly hair falls forward along with her head, dance clearly over. Right arm extended and bent at the elbow, she ends with a perfectly performed “hinge move”, her forearm still swinging back and forth. I stand there until she looks back up at me from underneath her mile long lashes, trying to wipe any evidence of a smile off of my face.

“Rylie, what did I say about copying your sisters?”

She giggles and responds with, “Rylie, what did I say about copying your sisters?”

I close my eyes and count to ten.

“Rylie?”

“Rylie?”

“Seriously, stop it.”

“Seriously, stop it.”

“I stink.”

“You stink.” Damn it.

I attempt to use the only weapon I have at the moment. Silence.

I quickly scoop her up by her waist, wrapping her underneath my arm, and make a mad dash to the kitchen. She giggles hysterically. I could tell her I’m not trying to be funny, but I really hate the copying game, so I don’t.

I manage to scoop up the three backpacks and my laptop case from the kitchen table with my other arm, because I’m super mom, and make my way to meet Nycole and Kyndall at the door. I set Rylie down gently. They all laugh with each other and I take a brief moment to look at my girls.

My girls; the loves of my life. Now the only loves of my life and I’m content with that. This is my life and I accept it 100%. Sure, I would have chosen differently if I’d been given the chance, but it’s my responsibility to teach these girls to make the most of what life has handed them. If I had just given up the day our Derek had been taken from this earth…where would we be now? No, I have to be strong for all of us.

Sure, some days are harder than others. I have breakdowns every now and then, but I think that’s normal. And I try to shield the girls as much as I can from moments when mommy’s feeling a bit “down”. But these girls...they mean more to me than my own life. I’ll do everything in my power to keep them from being hurt ever again. That is what defines me. I already had my happiness and I live for them now. I’m okay with that.

Getting back to my already hectic morning, I take in a calming breath through my nose before opening the door. I hand the girls their lunches and back packs before herding them out of the house. While walking to the car in a single file line, Rylie (who’s unfortunately walking in front of me) insists on stopping randomly every few seconds.

Bug on the ground. “Mommy, look!” She stops. I trip.

New flower identified in the yard. “Oh, smell this Mommy.” She stops. I trip.

Half-eaten tootsie roll in the driveway. “We don’t eat candy on the ground, right Mommy?” She stops. I trip.

Chewed up gum that Nycole spit out yesterday. Didn’t I ask her to pick that up and put it in the trash? “Um…Nycole didn’t listen to you! I listen to you, Mommy.” Rylie stops. I stop. And glare at Nycole.